“As [a man] thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7 KJV). What a man thinks in his heart — not what he says with his mouth — is where to find the man naked in his natural habitat. He may say warmly enough to be convincing, “Sit, eat, and drink,” but sweet words can coat a bitter heart. He may brood against you while he bids you to his table. What he thinks inwardly, his soliloquy uttered in secret chambers — that is the man as he is.

But we may go further: “As a man thinketh in his heart, so he will become.” That man in the inner chamber may change — for better or worse — depending on where he sets his innermost thoughts. Beautiful or beastly, peaceful or disturbed, heavenly or hellish — as a man thinketh in his heart, so he will become.

Knowing this, Scripture knocks loudly upon the inmost door.

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. (Colossians 3:1–3)

Those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. (Romans 8:5–6)

Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind. (Romans 12:2)

The Holy Spirit would open the windows and flood our soul’s inner rooms with fresh beauty and light:

Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Philippians 4:8)

Have such texts prevailed with you? The secret thoughts of your inner man — upon what do they dwell? Are you being transformed by the renewal of your mind?

Thoughts in the Darkness

This principle makes all the difference for us in life generally, but especially in our suffering. As a man thinketh in his heart while under the knife of affliction, so he will become — hardened and drifting away or “sorrowful, yet always rejoicing” (2 Corinthians 6:10).

We see this truth illustrated after one of the darkest events in holy Scripture: the destruction of Jerusalem. The book of Lamentations is aptly named, its pages stained with tears and blood. In it, the poet brings us into the ruins of his heart and the conquered city he loves. From within that cave, Jeremiah teaches us how to find warmth amidst the bitterest winter: he calls truth to mind.

As others sink irretrievably, Jeremiah goes down to the threshold of his heart, unlocks the door, and forcibly turns the thoughts of his soul away from his “affliction and . . . wanderings, the wormwood and the gall” (Lamentations 3:19), to his half-remembered God.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.” (Lamentations 3:21–24)

In the midnight of despair, he brings the lantern of memory into the secret place of his spirit and there reads of God’s goodness and faithfulness from the sacred ledger. Behold the heavenly alchemy. He has seen recent nights haunted by unspeakable terrors and sins, yet he pens lyrics of God’s every-morning mercies and tireless love. His world has been stripped from him, but “the Lord is my portion,” he catechizes the inner man. “Therefore I will hope in him.”

Memory Raises a Star

He refuses to stop until he sees goodness even in this bleakest moment. Watch how he speaks to his soul and how far up the mountain he climbs to gain a higher perspective.

The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth. Let him sit alone in silence when it is laid on him; let him put his mouth in the dust — there may yet be hope; let him give his cheek to the one who strikes, and let him be filled with insults. . . . [But why?] For the Lord will not cast off forever, but, though he cause grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not afflict from his heart or grieve the children of men. (Lamentations 3:25–33)

In a cave so black he cannot see his own hand, memory shines forth with starlight. His God’s self-revelation flashes from Sinai: “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exodus 34:6). He sends his and the nation’s plight into the orbit of this God. He doesn’t indulge pain’s false preoccupation with self, but, bent in prayer, begins to see by faith flowers among the ruins, the goodness in a man bearing his yoke in his youth. And he travels to heaven’s throne to find his footing, reminding himself that his God will indeed afflict his people but not from his heart.

Though God will in no way clear the impenitent and guilty, he overspills in steadfast love and mercy toward his children. He loves them from his heart. His mercies that never cease flow continually to them from his essence. His goodness burns as a ball of fire above and beyond cold caves of grief. Jeremiah reasons to himself: God’s fatherly discipline will pass, our trials will someday cease, tears will have a final day, but his mercies shall never end — and they have not now ended. The sun, though distant, has not yet diminished.

Reader, are you suffering? What are you calling to mind? What promises from the faithful God do you need to seize? When all lights fade, Christian soul, the Lord is still your portion.

Call Him to Mind

Today, Jeremiah’s Lord has revealed himself more wonderfully still. When we call his truth to mind, the one we see is Jesus. Weary soul, are you remembering Jesus? The author of Hebrews exhorts us,

Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. (Hebrews 12:1–3)

Desponding, struggling, exhausted saint, call the Lord Jesus to mind. Bring his sweet remembrance — and living presence — into the inner chambers. Think much of him, and the stone under your head shall become a pillow, the gall in your soul become sweetened. Do you feel weighed down by this life? Do sins cling to your mind? Do you begin to faint on the journey, tire from all the running, wonder how you will make it through the week? Look to Jesus. Call him to mind, and therefore have hope.

Look to him as the founder of your faith. The one who pioneered it, made it possible, laid the foundations, charged before you into battle. He is the architect, the great conqueror, your triumphant Alexander. He made the path, built the structure, leads into the battle of an already decided war. Does not the sight of him awaken fresh reserves to endure the broken edges of this life?

But not only the founder: he is the perfecter of your faith. Jesus is not like the foolish builder who begins a project without the resources to complete it. Look to Jesus; call him to mind, the finisher, the completer, the Perfecter of your faith. As you double over, begin to veer from the path, faint under the sun’s heat — see him at the finish line, as the finish line. He will bring you home; keep running. He is the one who finishes our faith (Philippians 1:6). He is the Great Shepherd — the great Perfectionist — unsatisfied with ninety-nine out of one hundred sheep brought home. Look to Jesus, troubled soul, the perfecter of your faith.

Died to Win Thee

Moreover, consider him “who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.” Consider him spit upon. Consider him stripped. Consider him whipped, mocked, and slapped. Consider him pierced. Consider him bleeding. Consider him paraded through the streets and placarded upon the tree. Consider that he endured this from sinners. Angels did not perform the salvific surgery — but orcs laid grimy hands on him, demons taunted him, men of foul breath spat upon him. He died shamefully, at the crossroads of Jerusalem, at the dirty hands of rotten men. Consider it; consider him: the very embodiment of God’s steadfast love and faithfulness.

As a man thinketh much of Christ in his heart, especially in his suffering, so like Christ he shall become, and with Christ he shall dwell eternally. In the lyrics of Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken, Christian,

Think what Spirit dwells within thee,Think what Father’s smiles are thine,Think that Jesus died to win thee,Child of heaven, canst thou repine?

A man sat along the road where one path broke into ten. A deep fog rested upon the land so no traveler could perceive each path’s end.

The man’s King, before going off to his kingdom, told the man the end of each. One path led to a den of lions. One to a cliff with jagged rocks at the bottom. One through a forest with bloodthirsty beasts. Another to a swamp with inescapable quicksand. Still another to a tribe of cannibals. And the unsavory reports continued in this fashion. Only one led to the King’s kingdom. His charge was simple: warn others away from destruction and toward the path of life.

A young man first crossed his path. “My friend, I have good news for you,” he said to the traveler. “The King of this world sent me to help you along. This path here, of the ten before you, alone is safe. And not only safe, but it leads directly to the King and his kingdom — a kingdom where you will be received, robed, and reconciled by his incredible mercy. The other paths — as the King has most solemnly recorded in his book — lead to certain ruin.”

To his amazement, the passerby completely ignored his pleadings. A woman upon his arm held his ear, bidding him to follow another of the ten paths. “Sir! Come back! That way is the path of death! Come back!” he cried until the man faded from sight. The servant sat down in silence for hours. What should I have done differently?

The second traveler, this time a young woman, paused momentarily to hear what he had to say. She considered the prescribed way, saw it was both narrow and hard, and without much more thought chose against it, telling him not to worry; she would be fine.

The sight of the next travelers forced the horror of that woman’s end from his mind. A husband and wife approached (hardly speaking or looking at one another). This couple, as self-confident as they were unhappy, met his royal invitations with a sharp rebuke.

“‘But what will they think of me?’ has lodged the name of Christ in many throats.”

“Barbarously arrogant!” the woman scolded.

“Hypocritical and judgmental,” the husband added.

“Love,” the woman said without stopping, “lets others travel their own path for themselves by themselves, and does not force one’s own way upon anyone.”

He tried to tell the back of their heads that it was not his way but the King’s, yet they paid no mind. Hand in hand, they walked toward the cliff, mocking such a fool upon the road.

Days went by after this fashion. Each encounter weakened his pleadings. The mission that he began with a royal sense of privilege soon waned into callousness, confusion, and apathy. Family, friends, colleagues, and strangers now pass by, all stepping upon their chosen path. He gives but a feeble smile at the unsuspecting people who embark upon their preferred way to perdition.

Weary in Speaking Good

I have felt like this servant of the King.

I have often asked with Isaiah, “Who has believed what he has heard from us? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?” (Isaiah 53:1) The temptation to compromise finds me in my defeat, whispering, “Is it really worth it?” or, “Did God really say that the gospel is the power of God for salvation?”

Add to this whisper the fleshly impulse to avoid conversations that can easily lead to awkwardness or rejection. Some of us, myself included, heed the voice telling us that “going there” is neither polite nor promising, rather than the voice telling us to share the only name given under heaven by which they must be saved (Acts 4:12). But what will they think of me? has lodged the name of Christ in many throats.

Now add to these challenges the sweet words in our day about “tolerance” — words that regularly convince Christians to consent to compromise while person after person passes by on the road to ruin. While Jesus didn’t blush to tell people that he alone was the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6), we often fail to pass along the life-saving message we have been given.

Word to Passersby

If you are considering which path to take and desire the King’s perspective, here you have it: Jesus alone is the way, the truth, the life; he alone is the mediator between God and man (1 Timothy 2:5); he alone brings reconciliation to sinners (Colossians 1:20); he alone reveals God perfectly (Hebrews 1:3); he alone is the resurrection and the life (John 11:25); there is salvation in no one else (Acts 4:12). Two types of paths exist: the way of Christ, and the ways of condemnation (Matthew 7:13). Every path not leading to repentance and faith in Jesus for the forgiveness of sins is a path leading to never-ending death.

God sent his Son into the world of condemned criminals in order to save it and give eternal life to all who believe (John 3:16–18). Jesus is the one name offered to you for your salvation. He is the only one who can take away your sins. Your good works will not spare you; your good character will not shelter you; your good intentions will not clothe your nakedness. The angel of death walks outside; only the door with Christ’s blood painted on the frame can shelter you.

“Two types of paths exist: the way of Christ, and the way of condemnation.”

Consider your path before it is too late. Not choosing a path is a path. Believing that no true paths exist is itself a path. Secularism, materialism, and false religions have paths. Contrast these with the only one that can lead to life, that of Jesus Christ and his gospel.

Politically correct? No. Tolerant? No. Exclusive? Assuredly. Loving? Absolutely. “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). Will you be a part of the us?

Plea to Christians

If, on the other hand, you are one of the many men or women at the crossroads, charged by the King to warn and to guide, do not give in or give up; the world needs your voice. Do not bow to the hollow statue that the world has erected and named “Love.” Compromise is love only with respect to self and sin, tolerant only toward the masses going to hell, and accepting only of a cowardice that makes us complicit in condemning those we claim to love.

If we believe our King, we cannot sit silently. If we care for souls, we cannot grow mute. If we love our God’s glory, we must speak. We cannot watch family, friends, and even enemies pass by with indifference.

In Due Season

Eventually, this servant of the King, through considering his own relationship with the King and meditating on the words of his book, revived his trust in the King’s message.

An old man made his way slowly toward him.

“Sir, I have wonderful news for you — and I hope, I pray you receive it. My King has sent me with an urgent message that you, even in your old age, can find eternal life. This path, sir, though hard and with a narrow gate, is the singular path to life. Every other has something worse than death inscribed upon it. Even now, my King awaits, ready to receive you.”

“Why should such a King offer me such a welcome?”

“Because, in his great love, he has made a way — through highest payment to himself — to receive all who come to him in faith. . . . Yes, even you. . . . Yes, that is his promise. . . . Yes, this path.”

Do not give in. Do not give up. Keep praying for your child; keep speaking the truth in love to that neighbor; keep pointing to Jesus Christ. Do not grow weary of speaking good, for in due season you will reap, if you do not give up (Galatians 6:9).

Identity — it is one of our society’s greatest obsessions today. Even we Christians can preoccupy ourselves with knowing who we are and what our purpose is. This pursuit is not altogether bad. The desire to understand who we are and what we are here for is natural and God-given. The problem arises when we look in the wrong places to discover our identity and purpose.

Many look to social media, self-help resources, life coaches, models of the psyche — you name it — for direction and affirmation. We may even naively accept mantras like “Be true to yourself” and “You do you,” thinking we can determine our own identities and express them however we want. But such paths lead only to more confusion and despair.

If we as Christians want to understand who we are, we must look to Jesus Christ. As the God-man, he is the true revelation of both God and of humanity. He alone can reveal to us who we are. And one concrete way he reveals our identities is through his appointed Supper.

People Who Remember

The Lord’s Supper, along with baptism, is one of the most debated Christian practices. Believers from various traditions disagree over what exactly happens during the meal; we also disagree over how frequently it should be celebrated. Despite such disagreements, all Christians agree on at least this: the Lord’s Supper is a meal whereby we remember who Christ is and what he has done for us (Luke 22:19; 1 Corinthians 11:24–25).

Many of us do not realize, however, that the Lord’s Supper is also a time when we remember who we are in Christ. In a key way, the Table strengthens our identity in him. Indeed, Christ himself forms and fortifies our identity in this meal because he is present to us and lives in us (John 14:20, 23; 17:23, 26). Just as food and drink strengthen the body, so Christ’s body and blood, received by faith, strengthen our souls in a way that helps us understand ourselves.

The Lord’s Supper shapes our identity in part because the meal is analogous to the Passover. The Passover was a ritual feast whereby the Israelites meditated on God’s saving actions and reassured themselves of who they were as God’s people. They identified themselves with the exodus generation every time they celebrated the rite.

When Jesus celebrated the Passover with his disciples on the night before his death, he did far more than identify with the exodus generation; he gave the meal greater significance because he was about to accomplish his mission as the true Passover Lamb. Just as the historical exodus and old covenant defined Israel’s existence, so Christ enacted a new exodus and a new covenant that now defines our existence in him — our very identity and way of life. And when Jesus commanded us to eat in remembrance of him (Luke 22:19; 1 Corinthians 11:24–25), he was not instructing us to simply ponder past events, just as he was not simply recalling the exodus when he celebrated the Passover with his disciples.

Many today think that to remember is to merely think about something from the past. But biblically, to remember involves bringing the past into the present and allowing the past to actively shape the present. So, when we remember Christ in the Supper, we are not thinking about someone who is absent and disconnected from us. Rather, we are, by faith, identifying with and being shaped by someone who is with us — indeed, in us.

Because remembrance is an act of identification, we identify with Christ when we partake of the Holy Meal. Like the Passover, therefore, the Supper shapes our identity. When we eat the bread and drink the cup, we taste who we are: people loved and redeemed by the Lord of all life. We belong to him, and we are made to be like him. And when we feast on Christ by faith, he transforms us more and more into his own image.

People Who Commune

Because we belong to the Lord Jesus and are made to be like him, we cannot find our true identity by looking inside ourselves. The Lord’s Supper subverts the notion that identity is an individualistic enterprise because in this meal we participate with Christ. “The cup of blessing that we bless,” Paul writes, “is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?” (1 Corinthians 10:16). Thus, many Christians rightly call this meal Communion. By it, we fellowship with Christ and remember that we are people who live in vital connection with Christ — like branches joined to the vine or a body to the head (John 15:1–6; Ephesians 5:23; Colossians 1:18).

And as people united to Christ, we are also united to other Christians. Paul explains, “The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?” (1 Corinthians 10:16). We participate in Christ as well as in the life of the church, who is vitally connected to Christ the head. Paul continues, “Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread” (1 Corinthians 10:17). By sharing this meal, we declare to both ourselves and one another that we are communing persons: we belong to Christ and each other.

We are not isolated selves. We do not have the inner resources to become whoever we want to be. Nor do we have leeway to live however we want. We are joined to the Lord Almighty, who alone has a rightful claim on all creation. And we belong to the body of Christ, the community of faith that shapes us and shows us how to live.

People Who Proclaim

Because we are people joined to Christ and his body, the church, our purpose in life is not to self-actualize and self-gratify. We have been chosen and redeemed so that we may joyfully serve and glorify God.

When we partake of the Lord’s Supper, we proclaim Christ’s death until he returns (1 Corinthians 11:26). Yet such proclamation is not limited to our sharing in this meal of thanksgiving — thus the name Eucharist (from the Greek word for thanksgiving). As persons who participate in Christ, we are called to proclaim him with our entire lives. As we eat the bread and drink the cup, God reminds us that we are called to be eucharistic persons, persons who gratefully proclaim the goodness of Christ crucified with all we are in all we do.

Our purpose in life, therefore, is not to express ourselves but to express Christ. Our focus ought to be on him and not ourselves because he is our life (Colossians 3:4), and the life we now live we live by faith in him (Galatians 2:20).

When we receive the Lord’s Supper, we remember that our lives are not our own. We do not exist for ourselves, and we do not live for ourselves. We live for and with Christ, who “came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).

When we receive the Supper, we remember that we have died with Christ in baptism and that he bids us take up our crosses in daily death to self, just as he humbled himself throughout his earthly life and ultimately gave himself on the cross on our behalf. We are united with the truly self-sacrificial one so that we too may live self-sacrificially — for the good of others and to the glory of God. When we continually die to ourselves, in this meal and in our daily lives, we become more like him, the true human. When we conform to him, we become more authentically human. This is where the Supper leads us.

The seemingly mundane elements of the Lord’s Supper force us to reimagine who we are. They reveal that we are a people who belong to Christ, a people identified with Christ, a people shaped by Christ, and a people becoming like Christ. We are redeemed by him, and we exist for him. He is our life, and he determines our identity. When we look to Christ in this most holy of meals, we see more clearly who Christ is and who we are in him. And as we commune with him, we become more like him. The Table truly reshapes and fortifies our identity.